


Ada's Day Off

by acid rounds (cobwebcorner)



Series: Things We Don't Tell Chris [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dominant Leon, Foe Yay, Handcuffs, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, submissive Wesker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-05 07:57:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobwebcorner/pseuds/acid%20rounds
Summary: Even a glamorous femme fatale needs a slob day once in a while. What’s a girl to do when the two men in her life won’t give her a break? Set them on each other and run out the back, of course!In which Wesker and Leon meet again after the Arcadia mission, and work things out with their fists. Among....other things.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to my previous fic, Morons and Madmen, but it can stand on its own. There’s very little plot here. What it really is is a further exploration of the growing relationship between two mutual enemies who really need to stop hitting on each other. Both these boys are a little pent-up and randy, so, things...happen. I guess you could call it a PWP?
> 
> Punching without plot. Yeah, that sounds about right.

 The Killer7 was the final straw.

The trouble wasn't that it was a bad handgun, by any means. Bulky magnums just weren’t her style, as she’d told Wesker on several occasions.

But Wesker was in one of his _moods_. Normal people might get snappy or violent if they were stressed. Wesker mutated into the world’s worst micromanager. He had to dictate every little detail of her missions, from her equipment to her wardrobe. Not overtly--Wesker wouldn’t know straightforward if it clubbed him with a 2x4. Instead, he left her ‘presents’ placed prominently on the desk of her hotel room, with small encrypted notes that always had the same translation: “don’t die.”

Ada balled that note into a tight wad and threw it in the trash, while fantasizing about doing the same thing to the other tightwad in her life. Usually they worked well together because Wesker let her do things her way. Back when they first started out, she’d thought these little bouts of concern were cute. Now she saw them as the symptom they were, of a tightly-wound man who would just keep coiling tighter within himself until someone forcibly broke him down.

She was in no mood to do that unraveling herself. She had a man to kill, a sample to steal, and after that she wanted a day for her own unwinding. She could see it already, Wesker dropping by unannounced with a bottle of wine, a subtle, barbed critique of her mission report memorized for sprinkling throughout the night’s conversation.

What she needed was a distraction. Someone who could hold Wesker’s attention indefinitely without getting themselves killed or, worse, ending up in a laboratory. Her fingers slipped inside her jacket pocket, fondling the little key tucked inside.

Then there was the second problem in her life. Leon had been moonier than usual lately, wanting to talk to her, sneaking close enough to touch her, all the usual warning signs that he hadn’t been laid in a while. Another duty she was usually happy to take care of, for the good of the human race, but not this week.

Couldn’t a girl just have some time to herself once in a while?

She pulled the key out and held it up, turning it over to catch glimmers of light on its teeth. Maybe, if she played her cards just right, she could get her two problems to take care of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be no plot, but there WILL be setup, so. Hang tight kids.


	2. You Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wesker and Leon have a less than happy reunion.

It was 7 pm, and the civil twilight outside the windows was just fading to true night. Leon edged around a crowd of well-dressed people, catching snatches of excited murmuring about some wedding reception, and smiled a little to himself. It warmed him to see people having fun, living normal lives. Something to remember the next time he found himself hip deep in bioweapons and death, ammunition against the hopelessness that nipped his heels in dark moments.

At the door to room 613, he took a keycard from his pocket and slid it into the reader. Here his smile faded, as he opened the door and flicked the light switch, flooding the room with gold. The suite was absolutely beautiful, and had to have cost a fortune to reserve over a weekend. There was even a bottle of champagne resting in a bucket on the counter. He had never been more suspicious.

The first warning flag: Ada never _planned_ things. She dropped in. Drove by. Swept him off his feet for a night and vanished in the morning wind. He scanned over the room with its clean, modern lines and abstract art reprints, examining it with the same thoroughness that he would an abandoned Umbrella warehouse. This reeked of some kind of trap. Yet still, here he was, toeing off his shoes and hanging up his coat instead of hopping back on a flight. He really never learned.

Ada wasn't here yet, so Leon went exploring. It had been a while since he'd been in a hotel room with a feather mattress, much less a separate sitting room and kitchenette. He was lucky if the government sprung for a motel 6 half the time. Outside the broad windows, the city lights sparkled against the deepening dusk. It was a lovely view.

An actual door separated the sitting room from the bedroom. Only one king bed stood inside. Telling. The bed had no less than eight pillows mounded at its head, a true marker of hotel price if he'd ever seen one.

He came back to the kitchenette and examined the champagne. He couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad sign that she had gone to all this extra expense. Maybe it was supposed to be romantic. More likely, she was softening him up for something.

Well, no reason to wait on Ada, he supposed. He picked up the bottle and set to uncaging the cork.

Then the door creaked open, and Leon’s heart about stopped.

Like a pale-faced black tower, Wesker stood framed by cream and blue, one gloved hand pressed flat against the door. He slid his sunglasses down just enough for a hint of red to glare over them.

The cork rocketed out of Leon's hand, bounced off the ceiling and fell in the sink. Leon paid no attention to the foam bubbling over his fingers.

"...Leon." Wesker eased the door shut behind him.

"Wesker." Leon cleared his throat, shaking droplets of champagne off his hand. "Didn't know it was that kind of party."

"Is Ada here?"

"Nah. Just us."

Wesker quietly observed the kitchen, his sunglasses making it impossible to tell the direction of his stare. He strode forward, dropping his own leather trench coat on the couch as he passed it. Leon took a wary step back, but Wesker ignored him. The man's attention was fixed on a note which he plucked from the fridge door. Leon had missed it entirely.

He edged closer so he could read over Wesker's shoulder. It said, “Have fun! XOXO,” and was signed with a lipstick kiss.

"Ah...Set-up?" Leon said.

"Looks that way. I wonder what she's trying to distract me from."

"I’m a distraction, huh?” Leon said with a snort.

Wesker’s eyes slid sideways to look at him. “Don’t go feeling too proud of yourself,” he said, which sounded like a ‘yes.’ He crumpled the note between his gloved hands. “But perhaps it is you that she wants occupied?”

"And here I thought she liked having me in one piece."

Bad thing to say, he could tell by the sharp quality of the smirk creeping up Wesker's face.

"Are you afraid of me, Leon?"

Leon tilted his chin up, looking Wesker square in the sunglasses. "Should I be?"

"That depends how annoying you plan to be."

“I don’t know. Some people get annoyed by totally unreasonable things.”

“You mean, like disposing of important viral samples?” Wesker asked, taking a menacing step forward. “Or, distracting underlings on vital missions?” Another step. “Surviving, when well past their usefulness?” He planted a hand on each counter and leaned in close, boxing Leon into the corner and taking full advantage of the extra 2 inches he had on the younger man for maximum loom. “ _Breaking sunglasses_?”

“Yeah. You know, little things,” Leon said. He refused to lean back any farther, with the result that their noses were inches apart. They were so close, Wesker could probably hear his heart pounding. “Nice replacements, by the way. They look exactly like the old ones.”

“I keep spares.”

“Of course you do. Well, no viruses and no underlings here, unless you’ve got some in your pocket. So, I just have to be careful of your sunglasses.” He was rambling, anything to distract Wesker as his hand twitched toward the knife holstered on his belt.

At this distance, he could make out the faint glow of Wesker’s eyes through his shades. The red pinpricks flicked down towards Leon’s hand, then back up. Wesker smirked, equal parts amused and challenging. Leon could hardly back down from a challenge.

He seized the knife and went for the throat. In a blur of black, Wesker shoved his arm in the path of the blade, catching the metal in the thick muscle of his forearm. Leon's wide eyes met Wesker's glare over the bleeding wound. Wesker’s capacity for pain never failed to surprise. Leon left the knife embedded in the other man’s arm and vaulted over the counter.

“Being stabbed,” Wesker said calmly as he worked the knife out of himself, “Is very annoying.”

In hindsight, escalating things to an outright brawl might have been a bad idea. Leon only had seconds to regret his decisions before Wesker came down on him like a freight train. He ducked under the first punch but wasn’t fast enough to dodge the elbow that followed, catching it hard in the shoulder and staggering. Another fist came plowing into his stomach and he only just managed to twist in time, turning the blow into a glancing one. He threw a right hook of his own at Wesker’s chin, only to have it caught by a bloody forearm. The knife wound had already healed.

Four more times, Leon attempted to get a blow in, only to be blocked at every turn. The man’s speed was just unfair. No, not a man, Leon reminded himself. He was trying to go hand to hand with a B.O.W., and he really should have known better. He dropped down and whipped his leg around in a sweeping kick, only for Wesker to jump back out of range. Even though it didn’t hit, the strike had put distance between them, enough for Leon to get up and scramble behind the plush white sofa. His eyes flicked from Wesker to the glint of steel on the floor behind him. The other man had discarded the knife. On one hand, the small blade would have very limited use against the Tyrant, as Wesker had just demonstrated. On the other hand, it was better than his own bare knuckles.

“Was that toothpick really the only weapon you brought?” Wesker asked, a single eyebrow raised. “You really do trust Ada far too much.”

“Apparently.”

What the hell had Ada been thinking? She should know better than to assume that one brief truce and a closet fling meant he and Wesker would be best friends the next time they met. He should have told her about what happened at the end of that mission. Maybe then she wouldn't have set up this lethal little play date.

Wesker approached the couch, and Leon backed away from him, braced and waiting for the other man to charge him. Instead, Wesker rested his palms on the back of the couch and leaned forward, his head tilting.

“Are we to play at a comedy routine, now? Chase each other in circles until someone gets fed up and starts throwing furniture?”

“And ruin this nice room?” Leon asked. “Ada would kill us if we lost her the security deposit. Tell you what, I won’t throw any refrigerators if you don’t.”

“Ha.”

This was not the same relaxed, playful Wesker that Leon remembered from their brief partnership. There was an extra edge in his smile, a tension in his shoulders. His eyes burned through his shades, hot and intent. Maybe he’d had a bad week. Or, maybe he was remembering how completely Leon had screwed him over the last time they met. Leon knew he should have brought the rocket launcher.

It turned out, Wesker had no interest in chasing anyone in circles around the couch. Instead, he jumped straight over it.

 

* * *

 

Baggy sweatpants: check. Stained, butter-soft tank top: check. Glass of red wine: check. Complete set of Lupin the 3rd: check.

Ada sank into her couch, no makeup, no hairspray, no high heels. For the first time in months she didn't have to worry about anyone calling on her in the middle of the night. She should have thought of this weeks ago.

Time to relax.

A tinny rendition of the Bond theme broke out from the table beside her. Leave it to her cell phone to prove her wrong before she could even start the show. Ada narrowed her eyes at it. As much as she might want to throw her phone out the window, that particular ringtone belonged to the only party she couldn't afford to ignore. Reluctantly, she muted the television and answered.

“Didn’t I ask you not to call me tonight?”

"I'm sorry to disturb your night off, Miss Wong. However, an issue has come up which requires immediate clarification. We’ve just had the very surprising news from one of our sources that you have returned to working for a former employer of yours.”

“I’m a free agent. I bounce between a lot of employers. Which one did you mean?”

“The dead one.”

Ah, so they were fretting about Wesker. She had known this was coming.

"Maybe I am. Aren't I entitled to take whatever side jobs I want? I hope you're not getting possessive." However teasing her tone might have been, she wasn't entirely joking. She took issue with employers who saw her as their belonging. It was a problem she'd run into before, and things always turned ugly.

“We find it worrisome, given what we know of his character and his goals.”

“I’ve proven my loyalty, haven’t I? Besides, he and I have both found a cause we agree on. It’s nothing that conflicts with the organization.” She said this last with firm finality, her fingers drumming on the remote. Lupin was waiting for her, and she did not want to spend her evening parrying words over the phone.

"We shall see. Frankly, we’re surprised he is even willing to have you back, after the incident in Spain."

"We both know how the game is played. He might never trust me again, but he won't hold a grudge." A bald-faced lie. Wesker was among the pettiest and most vengeful of men she had ever known, not to mention a sore loser. It had taken some doing to mollify him after her little stunt of running off with the plagas master sample. Luckily, she knew just what buttons to push.

“Very well. We have another mission for you, but of course the details can wait. You can pick it up in the usual place tomorrow at 8."

They hung up.

Ada put the phone down, and unmuted the television. This promised a thorny problem in the future, but tonight was her slob night. She was determined to turn her brain off and think no more about it until the morning.

 

* * *

 

Leon slammed into the metal leg of the coffee table and wheezed in pain, clutched at his shoulder. Right. Okay. That could have gone better. He rolled away from the cluster of furniture and staggered to his feet, mindful of the 6 foot tower of wrath rapidly approaching to his left.

They'd done a full circuit now, with Leon back near the kitchenette counter and its abandoned bottle of champagne. Wesker stalked towards him, slow and menacing. He liked to do that, in between zipping around like the Flash. He seemed to treat the whole fight as a game, batting Leon around at half strength, holding back. Someone of his strength could afford to play. Leon, on the other hand, was willing to stoop to anything just to survive this encounter.

Leon scanned the surrounding area for something, anything, he could use. He saw nothing but the champagne set. He grabbed for the bottle, then thought better of it. Instead, he took the towel from beside the bucket and threw it in Wesker's face. It blinded the other man for the split second Leon needed to close in behind him, hook his arms around Wesker's middle, and jump back into a suplex. Wesker grunted in pain on impact and then folded to the floor, stunned. Now what? Usually when Leon suplexed someone, their head exploded, or he gave himself enough time to finish them off with his gun. He still had no gun, and the dagger wasn't going to be much help. This was a fight he couldn't win.

Time to exercise the better part of valor. He bolted for the door and ran out, abandoning his coat in the closet. Ada could pick it up for him later. His grandmother would have smacked him if she could hear the foul curses he recited in his head as he tore down the hallway. He didn't remember the way back to the elevator. Hotels were like mini-labyrinths, every turn leading to an identical hallway, and he had a knack for getting lost in them.

Around the next corner, he nearly barreled over an older couple standing near the ice machine. The man dusted off the front of a suit jacket which looked more expensive than Leon's car, as if his mere proximity to the agent had somehow dirtied it. The couple stared at Leon with affronted confusion, their scowls matching as well as their shirts did.

“Uh. Sorry about that, I. Really needed some ice,” Leon said, despite the obvious fact that he carried no container to hold any ice. He looked nervously over his shoulder for any sign of an approaching Tyrant. The couple were still looking at him like he was mad, and showed no signs of moving.

Shit, he couldn't drag the fight out here. There was too high a chance that civilians would get involved, and Wesker had never demonstrated any restraint against hurting innocent bystanders. Outrunning a man who could move like Wesker was out of the question, too. Leon needed to get away from these two and hide somewhere, until Wesker passed him and he could sneak out. His pride could take the hit from cowering in a closet if it meant living through this.

“Darling, you forgot the bucket.”

A square plastic container was shoved into his stomach with the gentleness of a punch. Leon scrambled to catch it before it fell, staring at it for 20 straight seconds to make sure that it was, indeed, an ice bucket, complete with lining. He looked up into Wesker's smile, which was much too broad and too bright to be real. Right, super speed. Leon had underestimated it again. Had Wesker really run back to the room for an ice bucket, just to make a dramatic entrance?

Before Leon could even think about running away again, a warm hand seized around his shoulder with a firm grip just this side of crushing, ensuring he stayed right where he was. A small, childish part of Leon was very tempted to take a handful of ice and stuff it down Wesker's turtleneck. Too bad he couldn't reach the machine from here.

The older couple were still staring. The male civilian's expression had shifted from affront to outright disgust, while the woman remained carefully, frigidly neutral. It took Leon a few seconds to think through the haze of adrenaline, and realize what was eating them. They couldn't have known that the man beside him was an international bioterrorist, after all. Right, Leon got so caught up in the real problems of the world, in all the death and greed and sickness and poverty, sometimes he forgot that some people got upset over two men displaying affection in public.

The more the two strangers sneered at him, the more Leon wanted to shock them. Maybe Wesker hadn't been wrong about his 'rebellious streak.' Leon leaned into Wesker's side, smiling up at him with as much sticky-sweet love-dopey warmth as he could muster.

“Sorry, baby. You know what jet lag does to me.”

So that was what a man looked like when he struggled to repress a full facial twitch.

The rich couple finally left, tutting their displeasure to each other. Leon watched them until their backs disappeared around a corner, uncomfortably aware that he was now even more trapped than he had been before he left the hotel room.

Wesker grabbed him by the throat and threw him into the wall next to the rattling ice machine.

“Could we maybe—not cause a scene?” Leon choked out.

"You're the one who ran out here," Wesker replied.

"I didn't--think this through--"

"Isn't that a surprise."

Leon caught a flash of movement over Wesker's shoulder. Another civilian was approaching, great. If they saw one man strangling another, they were either going to panic and run or try to intervene. Either way, there was a risk of more people getting involved.

Not that Wesker would care, and he didn't look ready to make nice any time soon. Leon couldn't break the man's hold, hard as he tried. So, he did the only thing his oxygen-starved brain could think of: he grabbed Wesker's head and pulled the man in for a kiss. For just a moment, Wesker melted against him, the grip on his throat slackening enough for him to breathe. Only a moment, and then Wesker's hand seized around his throat even more tightly than before, pressing him hard against the wall as Wesker devoured his mouth. Wesker probably remembered what happened the last time Leon had kissed him in the middle of a fight.

The approaching civilian, a young woman who sure didn't dress like she could afford a room here, wolf-whistled as she passed them. Wesker broke the kiss to watch her depart, his expression thoughtful.

"Y-you got a---choking kink too?" Leon gasped. At this rate, he wasn't going to have enough air left to make snappy comments. Wesker looked unimpressed.

"Will nothing stem the tide of half-wit attempts at humor from that mouth of yours?"

"Could--think of a few things."

Oh, god, here they went again. He really hadn't intended that to sound as dirty as it did, but now Wesker was giving him the the same, "I shouldn't be into you but here we are," look he'd had before they fucked in a closet.

"Let's. Just. Get back to the room," Leon all but pleaded.

The hand released his throat, then caught him when he staggered forward in a coughing fit. Leon was pressed against a warm side once more as Wesker steered them back down the hall, giving every appearance of walking alongside Leon when actually he was practically dragging him. By the time that hotel room door snapped behind them, Leon had gotten his breath back and could stand on his own. He pulled out from under the Tyrant’s arm before the man got any ideas about strangling him again.

“Well then. Where were we?” Wesker asked.

“I think you were lying on the ground over there,” Leon said.

Wesker's lip pulled back in a snarl. The man just didn't appreciate good humor at all, how sad. His shoulder twitched, which Leon read correctly as the start of a punch, and the agent ducked to the side before the lightning fast blow could connect. Wesker had overextended himself, leaving Leon a perfect window for a counter attack. Yet, Leon saw a problem, and hesitated.

"Wait!" he said, with the same urgent tone he once used when telling the president's daughter to hide from infected cultists. Wesker paused.

"If you're hoping to reason with me--"

Leon plucked the sunglasses from the man's face before he could finish, folded them, and set them aside on a side table all while the astonished man watched. Then he socked Wesker right in the eye.

Wesker's head whipped to the side, as if he had been merely slapped, not hit with the full force of a sucker punch. He fixed his nose back into place with a soft 'pop' and huffed, clearly amused instead of angry.

"Sparing my glasses? How thoughtful of you."

"Wouldn't want to annoy you," Leon said, and then performed a quick backwards handspring to get out of range before Wesker could put a fist through his rib cage.

“If you really mean that, then stop jumping around,” Wesker growled.

Contrary to the last, Leon jumped to the left immediately, avoiding a grab.

“And get strangled again? Look, I can’t spend all night indulging your kinks. You gotta think about my needs once in a while.”

“So obsessed with my fetishes. Are you keeping a mental list, Leon?”

“I’m trying here. Really, I am. You are just too demanding."

 

* * *

 

“It’s so cute when they get along,” Ada told her cat Luka, shifting her legs up into a folded position on the couch. On screen, detective Zenigata and a half-naked Lupin were piling into a biplane together.

Once again, her cell phone went off, this time cutting over the show with a rendition of “Womanizer.” Without even looking at it, Ada snatched up the phone and hung up on the caller. Even if it hadn’t been her night off, she wasn’t answering to any calls from Simmons.

The thief and the detective were well into the air by the time her phone went off again.

“Womanizer, woman, womanizer, you're a womanizer, oh...”

Growling under her breath, she shut the phone off, then checked her watch.

Wesker and Leon had probably both arrived at the hotel by now. It was too bad she hadn’t had a chance to sneak some recording equipment into the room. It would be a hell of a show.

 

* * *

 

B.O.W.s really just didn't play fair, Leon reflected as Wesker casually caught his next punch with an open palm. The man's fingers closed on Leon's fist like a bear trap.

“And what are your needs? Out of curiosity,” Wesker asked.

That was a dangerous question. Leon looked up through his bangs at the taller man, remembering almost against his will the image of Wesker singed, shirtless, and fucked up, perfect hair a mess and iron focus shattered, all because Leon had found the right buttons to push.

His needs were simple, when you got down to it. A little bit of warmth, some companionship, a reminder that he was still alive despite everything. To be brutally honest, what he needed most right then was to get laid. He hadn't had sex since the Arcadia mission. It wasn't that he couldn't find anyone willing, he was just always too busy or too exhausted to go out and meet someone.

He struggled to wrench his hand out of Wesker’s grip, grimacing as the gloved hand only increased pressure. Wesker was smirking at him.

“Not having my bones broken is a pretty important one,” Leon grunted. He feinted a punch into Wesker’s stomach, and left the man’s other hand grasping at air while the real attack came in the form of Leon’s knee. It was a good enough hit for Leon to pull free.

“That is a preference, not a need,” Wesker replied.

“Fine. How about not getting killed?” He tried to dodge another punch and caught a glancing blow that sent him spinning. Wesker took the opening to grab his collar and fling him into the back of the couch. Leon hit so hard the couch rocked forward on its front legs, only just falling back before it could tip over on to the coffee table.

“Still only a preference.” Wesker tutted him, shaking his head. He grinned the entire time, that sharp one that made every primal instinct in Leon want to run. “You’re focusing on what you don’t want. Can’t you be more positive?”

“Chocolates?” Leon groaned, pulling himself up using the sofa. “Wine? Diving? You could try to romance me a little.”

“It’s not like you to be so boring.”

“Sorry. I’m a pretty simple guy when you get down to it.”

Leon tensed as if he was going to rush Wesker, then darted left instead, towards the front of the room. He grabbed his coat from the closet with such force that it sent the hanger spinning up into the door frame, and then he was sprinting away from the door before Wesker could corner him there. He didn’t remember packing a gun for this meeting, but there might have been some kind of useful gadget tucked in his pockets that he’d forgotten about. He tried to dig through them while he danced back and forth, keeping his distance from Wesker.

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Have a trick up your sleeve after all?”

He hoped so.

“That would be telling.”

Only two objects came to hand: his cell phone, and his flashlight. A plan started to come together. It wasn’t a great plan, but he would take what he could get. The coat got thrown into a corner as he passed by. He flipped the phone open and dialed a number, keeping the flashlight hidden in his other palm for now. Wesker's narrow eyes zeroed in on the phone immediately, and he closed in immediately, eyes flashing irritation and disappointment.

“Too late to call in backup.” Wesker lunged for the phone, and Leon sidestepped him.

Now he only had one arm free to ward off Wesker's attacks, which was made doubly hard since Wesker seemed hell-bent on getting the phone out of his hand. They danced back and forth across the room, hopping over tables, dodging around the couch. It had never occurred to him before now how excruciatingly long time could stretch between rings on a call. One of Wesker's open-palm strikes hit him square in the chest and sent him flying. He hit the floor back-first, where he lay gasping like a beached fish. Wesker stalked towards him, and Leon weakly squirmed backward on his elbows. The taller man paused, apparently savoring the moment, his eyes trailing over Leon's body while the agent glared upward.

Finally, the ringing stopped.

“Ada Wong.”

"Ada! Want to tell me what the hell--"

“I’m not here right now. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you.”

“Ada, wait!”

Wesker had relaxed at the mention of Ada’s name, and stood patiently watching until Leon broke eye contact to look down at the phone, dejected.

“Did she answer?” Wesker asked.

“I got voice mail,” Leon replied. “Her phone must be turned off.”

“Strange. She never turns that phone off.”

“Maybe she really is off doing something she doesn’t want us to know about.”

“I never doubted that. The question is whether it’s a mission, or something else.”

Leon shrugged a shoulder. He tried his best not to worry about Ada. Whatever messes she got into, she could more than take care of herself. Besides, she might have turned it off just because she knew she would be leaving two confused and angry men behind her. If there was anything Ada hated, it was having to answer questions.

 

The ceasefire lasted a few seconds longer before Wesker lifted his boot, and Leon had to roll out of the way before it stomped his shoulder in. The pause had been just long enough for him to get his breath back. For the first time that night, providence smiled on him, for he had wound up just feet away from his dropped combat knife. He swiped the weapon up and pushed to his feet in one smooth motion, pivoting just as Wesker closed in for another attack.

Leon shone his flashlight straight into the other man's now unprotected eyes, blinding him a second time. Wesker shrank back with a yelp, reflexively shielding his eyes with a hand. This time, instead of throwing Wesker to the ground, Leon grabbed him from behind and pressed his knife to the man's throat.

He really hadn't been expecting that maneuver to work, so he was just as surprised to have Wesker secured in his arms as Wesker was to be in the position. The shock wore off quickly. Now Leon just had to figure out what to do next.

Wesker rolled out that low, dark chuckle, the one that sent little shivers down Leon's spine.

“Did you forget what I am?” he asked, turning his head so Leon could see his red eye. “Go ahead. Slice my neck open. See how much good it does you.”

Dammit, he was right. Even if Leon hit the jugular, Wesker could just heal before he bled out. It would hurt. It might even put him down for a minute. It wouldn't be enough. Leon shifted his grip on the knife and brought it up so the tip rested before Wesker's eye instead. One good shove would thrust the steel through the eye and up into the brain.

“Better,” Wesker said, still more amused than cowed.

“Listen,” Leon hissed, shaking Wesker a little for emphasis. “I'm on vacation. And I don't know about you, but you were going to meet Ada in person in a hotel room. There's champagne on the counter, so I'm going to guess it wasn't work related. The point is, neither of us are on the clock, and we didn't come here to fight. We don't have to keep doing this.”

He lapsed into silence, giving Wesker time to think it over. Yet, Wesker didn't seem to be considering the words at all. His amusement had faded throughout Leon's little speech and now he looked frustrated and disappointed, which confused the hell out of Leon.

A gloved hand wrapped around his wrist, faster than he could think. It wrenched his hand back with a bone-grinding grip and twisted, making Leon cry out and drop the knife. Wesker wasn't finished yet. He broke Leon's hold as easily as a child snaps a spiderweb, then used his grip on Leon's wrist to pull the agent forward so that their noses were almost touching.

"You should have thought of that before you stabbed me," Wesker growled.

“You backed a trained government agent into a corner. What did you expect?” Leon snapped back.

“From you? Something a little more unconventional.”

Oh, Leon would show him unconventional. The new position left their faces an inch apart. Leon's eyes dipped down to Wesker's lips, then back up. Wesker angled his face away before he could even close in.

“That trick is getting old,” Wesker said, warning.

So, Leon headbutted him instead.

 

* * *

 

“That could have gone better,” Ada told the TV screen. She went to take another sip of wine, only to find her cup dry. Sighing, she paused the show on a very unflattering screen of a screaming Lupin running from a mob of policemen.

Luka meowed in affront as she passed. Chuckling, she stopped and scratched the silky fur behind the ears.

As she poured herself more wine, her eyes kept drifting to the dark cell phone on the table. She had wanted to keep it on tonight, even if she wasn’t taking work calls, just in case a certain handsome fellow called in need of a hint. Leon could handle himself in most situations, but dealing with Wesker involved one very steep learning curve.

He’d figure things out eventually, she assured herself. Leon might have been a little dumb when it came to relationships, but he always pieced things together in the end.

She wondered if he had found her package yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops my hand slipped, splashed a little bit of plot in there, sorry. Don't pay it any mind.


	3. In Which Everyone has a Good Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kudos and comments and everything! I've just spent all of NaNoWriMo working on original short stories and fanfiction, so expect a lot of content from me in the near future.
> 
> Now let's get to the good part.

Fighting wasn't an option, calling for help wasn't an option, running away into the hall risked too much collateral damage, and Leon was quickly running out of ideas. He retreated in the only other possible direction, the bedroom, and slammed the door behind him. The wooden door was thin and would tear like paper if Wesker punched it, but even that small barrier would give him a little time. Thank god Ada had bought the suite with separate living and sleeping areas.

He didn't have a plan beyond that. The floor to ceiling windows led out into a sheer 10 story drop with no balconies or fire escapes in sight, and the only other door went to a tiny bathroom. He took a precious second to shove a side table in front of the door, whipped the cream-colored bedskirt aside, and dove under the bed. As he hit the carpet, he shoulder-checked something solid and metallic. Clenching his teeth on a curse, he pushed the object forward so he could see it.

It was a small attache case. A tag on the handle read, "In case of trouble." Well, he was in a heap of trouble all right. The case opened with a dull click.

The door burst open, tipping over the small end table with a bang. Leon could see dark shapes through the sheer bedskirt, just enough to determine that Wesker was standing in the doorway, looking down.

"Really, Leon?" he said.

Leon hardly dared breathe until he saw the dark figure move towards the closed bathroom door. He glanced down at the contents of the case, then did a double take. Inside, a taser and a pair of studded leather handcuff nested in a bed of black velvet, with another handwritten note alongside them.

It read, "He can break these, but that's not the point. Give it a try, handsome. --XOXO, Ada," and was signed with another lipstick kiss.

She had to be kidding him. Leather handcuffs? He might as well try to tie Wesker down with a kleenex.

The bathroom door squeaked open. It was now or never. One day, Leon mused as he armed himself with the taser, his trust in Ada was going to get him killed. He crept out from under the bed as quietly as he could, his eyes never leaving the broad shoulders of his adversary.

Before Wesker could turn, Leon sprung, the taser going off with a loud pop and a hum as Leon thrust it into the unsuspecting tyrant's neck. Wesker spasmed, all his mighty enhancements doing nothing for him against the high voltage surging through his body.

It was like a bad flashback to Leon's academy days, seizing the dazed man by the shoulder, throwing him to the ground and planting a knee in his back. Wesker recovered more quickly than anyone Leon had ever practiced on. Leon managed to get one of the cuffs on a thrashing wrist, and then an elbow slammed into his solar plexus and sent him tumbling backwards.

Wesker rolled over so he was facing up, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Leon dove back on top of him with the tenacity of a bloodhound, determined to get that second cuff on or die trying. He delivered a solid left-hook to keep Wesker from throwing him off again right away, and that gave him just enough time to pin both the man's wrists over his head and then fasten on the second cuff.

Leon fought to get his breath back and glowered down at the man he was straddling, wordlessly daring the tyrant to foil all his hard work by snapping the thin little chain that linked the cuffs.

Wesker looked shocked--heh--in every sense of the word. His pupils were dilated to the point they almost had human proportions, and his eyebrows were skewed. Instead of calming once their tussle had paused, his breathing seemed to pick up the longer they lay like that, with Leon's thighs bracketing his ribs, and the tips of Leon's hair brushing his forehead.

Wesker tilted his head back to observe the cuffs.

“Is this standard kit?” he asked dryly.

“Shut up,” Leon growled, and kissed him hard. He'd had it up to here with this smug, confusing, overbearing, handsome son of a bitch. Maybe he was about to get thrown into a wall, but he didn't care anymore. He had Wesker pinned, and he was taking advantage.

Wesker let him. He lay still, his arms slack under Leon's hands, and opened his mouth to let Leon in. His legs shifted, and a warm weight pressed down on Leon's ankle, pinning it to the floor.

“You're not going to run away now, are you?” Wesker asked when they paused for air.

Leon pushed himself up just enough to look over at the other man. Wesker looked good in handcuffs. He looked even better with his eyes heated and his suit rumpled.

“Are you kidding me?”

“In that case, I might be persuaded to overlook your recent transgressions. For now.”

“Tch. Generous of you.”

Leon sat back on Wesker's crotch, pressing down on the arousal he could feel against the back of his thigh. He smirked when Wesker hissed. The man could try to play it cool as much as he wanted, but his body betrayed him.

“Always full of surprises, Leon,” Wesker said. He flexed his arms out just enough to pull the chain between them taut. “You'll insist on these, I suppose.”

“You know what? Yeah. Yeah, I think I will.”

Leon didn't know why tazing the other man and then tying him up had flicked the switch in his brain from 'fight' to 'fuck,' and he didn't care. This was so much more fun than getting punched. He bent down for another kiss, one hand still braced on Wesker's wrist while the other traveled down his body to explore.

 

* * *

 

“Well it’s about time,” Ada told the TV, as on screen Fujiko delivered a high kick to her captor's face, stole his gun, and shot off her handcuffs.

Her cat raised his head to give her an unimpressed stare, then turned to the screen to watch Fujiko tear through the halls of the zeppelin, kicking every goon she met square in the face and knocking them out by the dozen.

“Yes! Get 'em!”

Luka blinked twice and then settled back into a little black ball, no doubt thinking to himself that humans were impossible to understand.

 

* * *

 

“There is a bed right there, you know.”

“O-oh. Right.”

With some reluctance, Leon climbed off of Wesker, stumbling a bit when the other man was slow to release his leg. Wesker followed in one smooth, elegant motion, the dark length of him towering over Leon. Far from being intimidated, Leon's eyes fell to the silver rivets of the handcuffs twinkling against the leather, and he felt a pulse of heat surge through him. Damn but this look suited him. Wesker had always cut a striking figure, and Ada had picked out a pair of cuffs that blended into his leather gloves, so the silver accents popped even more.

All his for the taking.

Leon went in for another kiss, but Wesker surprised him by throwing his arms over Leon's head and then pulling back sharply, pinning the agent to his chest by the handcuff chain. Miffed at the reversal, Leon squirmed against the hold as Wesker kissed him.

He wasn't having it. He shoved Wesker down onto the bed and got dragged down after him by the chain of the handcuffs. They bounced once, scattering the many pillows. Leon surged up and reconnected their mouths. With a little maneuvering, he was able to kiss Wesker and wrestle the man's arms up over his head at the same time. He'd always been pretty good at multitasking.

His hand groped blindly for the headboard, fingers scraping over wood.

“Mmph—“ Leon tore his mouth away to look up. The headboard was a solid block with a little crescent moon inlay, and offered no attachment points whatsoever. Pretty to look at, awful for chaining a man to. “Dammit, wrong kind of headboard.”

“This is a side of you I've never seen before,” Wesker said, one side of his mouth curling upward. “So pushy.”

“Hey. I'll have you know I'm a take-charge kind of guy.”

Wesker hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He spread his hands out over the headboard and gripped it tight. “Illusions,” he said in reply to Leon's look.

Leon swallowed, his eyes dragging over Wesker's taut arms.

“Ok. That works.”

He took Wesker in another kiss, blindly groping at the man's chest with one hand, undoing coat buttons where he found them. His hands dipped lower, slipped under the blond's turtleneck and smoothed up the fever-warm skin. Wesker hummed his appreciation into Leon's mouth.

"No monsters," Leon murmurred into the skin, kissing his way from Wesker's mouth to his throat. "No Mission. No time limit." He traced one teasing finger around the prominent bulge in Wesker's pants.

"An actual bed," Wesker purred. He tilted his chin to the side, exposing more of his neck for Leon to mouth. His leg had hooked around Leon's ankles again.

"I'm still not letting you anywhere near my ass," Leon said, earning a puff of laughter against his hair. "But I really want to fuck you."

"Mmm. I'm amenable," Wesker replied. “One day we'll get you over that little paranoia.”

“It's not paranoia when you're involved.” Leon moved in for another kiss, stopped. "Oh—shit. I didn't bring the right kind of lubricant for this."

"I did."

“Just what do you and Ada usually do together?” Leon asked, his eyebrows high.

“I’ll leave that to your imagination,” Wesker replied. His smile dripped with sin.

Woof. That painted some very pretty pictures. Okay, it was getting way too stuffy in here.

Leon scooted back to shed his clothing, flinging the articles into a heap on the floor next to the bed. Wesker's eyes burned on him the entire time. Once he was naked, he lay down next to Wesker's thigh, fingers dancing over the button on the man's trousers.

"Like what you see?"

"Vanity, Leon? Yes, you're a very fine specimen."

"Let's not use the 's' word."

A deft twist of his fingers slipped the trouser button through its hole, and then he eased down the zipper. This time, Wesker had on plain black underwear, nothing embarrassing. He pulled his hips up so Leon could tug his pants and underwear off. The turtleneck and suit coat would have to stay on, because Leon wasn't about to take those cuffs off anytime soon.

Wesker's things joined the pile on the floor. The man scowled at this, clearly unhappy with the rough treatment of his expensive clothing. He looked like he was restraining the urge to get up and fold them.

Leon could care less about Wesker's wardrobe. He was much more interested in the man left behind half-naked, chained up, and stretched out before him. Talk about pretty pictures. God, what Leon wouldn't kill for a camera.

Wesker tore his gaze away from the clothing, met Leon's eyes, and smirked as if he knew exactly what Leon was thinking. Leon knew the man had noticed his staring, and he knew what Wesker was about to say, too. He crawled up Wesker's side and slipped his tongue into that mouth before any words could come out, one hand twisting in Wesker's hair while the other grasped his hip.

Wesker grunted in displeasure and tried to jerk his head away.

"Must you always mess up the hair?" he grumbled.

"You look good with it messy," Leon said, prompting a snort.

"Your taste is questionable at best."

"I'm into you, aren't I?"

Wesker glowered. "I would watch that tongue of yours. You finally have me in a good mood. Don't spoil it."

"You look pretty happy to me," He flicked Wesker's half-erect cock, making it sway and prompting another grunt from the man.

"I would be much happier if you would get on with it."

"Alright, alright. And you call me pushy."

He captured Wesker in another kiss and wrapped his hand around the other man's cock at the same time, pumping it with firm, slow strokes. Wesker groaned his contentment into Leon's mouth, his eyes falling shut.

“Shit, condoms!” Leon jumped off the bed and pawed through his discarded pants for the pocket. From the bed, he could just hear the soft thunk of a skull thudding back against the headboard.

“You are excellent at breaking the mood,” Wesker informed him after he jumped back on the bed.

“Give me a break, I don’t do this kind of thing very often.”

He tore open the foil wrapper and discarded it on the floor. After a moment of deliberation, he stretched the condom over Wesker's cock rather than his own.

“Change of heart?” Wesker asked.

"Nah, just warming you up." Leon winked, flashing his sauciest smile. He took a second to savor the heated intrigue in the other man's face before he bent down and wrapped his lips around the man's cock.

Wesker's head thunked back against the headboard a second time.

It had been a long time since Leon had done this. He'd forgotten how much he liked giving head. The condom tasted awful, they always did, but the response Wesker gave him was completely worth it. Here was a pleasure all its own, listening to Wesker's breathing grow ragged, feeling the warm hips shudder and jump under his hands as he coaxed Wesker to full hardness. He glanced up through his lashes at the man's face.

Wesker had his eyes closed, head thrown back, and he seemed to be biting back his moans. Even in this, the man was guarded. Leon wished he could tear all those walls down, if only for a few moments, and a wicked little idea twisted in his brain.

He didn't stop once he had Wesker fully aroused. He kept sucking, and Wesker was so inebriated with pleasure that he didn't notice. With every bob of Leon's head, Wesker's composure unraveled just a little bit more, his muscles twitching with the effort of holding still. Leon’s own hard-on throbbed against the bed sheets, ignored for the moment.

Sooner than he’d expected, Wesker tensed under him, breath shuddering higher in anticipation of an orgasm. Leon squeezed the base hard and moved off, letting the cock slip out of his mouth. Wesker made a little choked noise at the denial, his hips bucking. Leon waited patiently until the other man had backed down from that edge, and then he went back to sucking him, ignoring the confused glare leveled at his head.

He did it again, building Wesker up to climax and then backing off right before the man could come. After the third denial, Wesker bolted upright as far as he could without letting go of the headboard, his eyes glowing like LEDs.

“For god's sake, Leon!” he snapped.

In the face of this towering anger from a man who could snap him in half, Leon shrugged.

"Hey, you know me. I take things in my own time." He lazily circled Wesker's tip with a finger as he spoke, his lips twitching.

Wesker bit his lip, muffling a curse.

“I knew you would be a fucking tease,” Wesker growled, eyes a narrow slit.

“You agreed to this,” Leon reminded him. And after all the bruises Wesker had given him this evening, the man certainly deserved a little frustration.

Leon smiled brightly, ducked down, and went right back at it. Over and over, he brought Wesker to the edge and kept him there, no matter how much Wesker cursed at him. After a while, the curses started losing cohesion, the bitten back moans wrenching out from his lips as his hips squirmed and jumped outside his control. This, this was just what Leon had wanted to see. Wesker was so calm and remote all the time, it made Leon just want to crawl up under his skin and fuck him up.

Fucking him would be good, too. He'd teased both of them enough. For his last bow, Leon took Wesker as far into his mouth as his gag reflex would allow, hollowed his cheeks, and sucked. He dragged back slowly, relishing the reedy gasp this got from Wesker, and then he did the daring, reckless thing: a gentle graze of the hot flesh with his teeth. Wesker liked a little pain, after all.

A loud 'crack' froze Leon like a startled deer. He looked up Wesker's body to the headboard, and the spiderweb of cracks spreading out from Wesker's hands. With visible effort, Wesker forced his fingers to relax, shifting them off the broken wood.

Leon swallowed, his heart suddenly pounding. Wesker gave a little moan at the movement of Leon's mouth around him. His whole body vibrated under Leon with the tension of unfilled need. The cracked wood behind him served as stark reminder that the only thing really chaining him down was his own self control, and with that thought sizzling through Leon, his own cock couldn't take the neglect anymore.

He let Wesker go and sat up, straining to think through the haze of his own excitement. What did he need? Oh, right, lube. And another condom. And those would be...

Wesker surged up after him with a wordless exclamation.

"Easy, easy!" Leon pressed his hand to Wesker's chest and pushed, urging him to lie back down. "I'm not going anywhere."

Wesker's desperate eyes searched over his face, hardly seeming to see him, the pupils blown so wide that only a thin ring of red was visible. It was like the cold, intelligent human part of him had been broken down completely, and all that was left was naked, animal need. Eventually, he gave in to Leon's pressure, and sank back into the bed. Leon followed him down and kissed him soundly, until the shoulders under his fingers relaxed their tension.

"Where's your lube?" he asked.

Wesker's eyes fixed on the ceiling. His mouth twitched with aborted movements as he tried to remember how to speak.

"Coat," he rasped. "Inner pocket."

Leon kissed him again.

"I'll be right. Back." He pressed down on Wesker's chest again, a silent command for him to stay. Wesker jerked out a nod.

Leon broke all his previous speed records, bolting for the main room and the coat sitting on its couch.

 

* * *

 

“Now there's some questionable physics,” Ada told her cat. She bit into another cracker and contemplated the screen, her head tilted to one side. “If I were him, I would have used melons. Beach balls, perhaps? Or Grapefruit? Apples are just not the right shape.”

Luka continued to snore on the cushion beside her, offering no useful input whatsoever.

“It's funny that they didn't get any duplicates, with everyone dressing up as each other. What would they have done if everyone came to the party dressed as Lupin? It would be like the anniversary special all over again.”

Someone knocked on her door. Ada took a very deep breath in, and let it out slowly. “You know,” she said to her cat in her calmest voice, “all these interruptions are making me want to scream.”

She paused the show and got up, envisioning all the many ways she could murder the person on the other side of the door if their last name happened to start with an 'S' and also end with an 'S.' She checked through the peephole. Outside, a delivery woman wearing the blue uniform of the local pizzeria stood holding two white boxs, looking bored.

Ada slipped her pistol back into her hidden thigh holster and opened the door with a smile.

“You're out late. Weren't you going to come by in the morning?”

The woman handed over the box and shrugged.

“Consider it an apology. Enjoy your night.”

She left without another word. Ada kicked the door closed behind her. The first box contained, as she expected, mission details. The second box was an actual pizza.

“The organization is so nice to me.” She dumped the pizza in the trash. “Too bad I don't trust them.”

Luka popped his head up with an inquisitive meow.

“Don't look at me like that. Dairy isn't good for you.” She folded into the couch beside him, petting his soft fur. “Now, where were we? Ah, that's right. They were in a tight spot.”

 

* * *

 

"Fffffffuck, you're tight," Leon gasped.

"I-it's been awhile," Wesker replied.

Preparing the other man had taken a long time, long enough that both men had started to flag and Wesker had regained some coherency. Well, they'd see how long that lasted.

Leon pressed in inch by inch, keeping careful track of Wesker's face and the pressure around his cock. It was agony to hold himself still once he was fully seated inside, but he did it anyway, waiting for Wesker to adjust to him.

"You okay?" he asked, petting Wesker's flank.

"Getting there," Wesker replied. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Well? I'm not fragile."

"Nah," Leon agreed. "But I want it to be good for you."

Wesker had his eyes closed again, his chin tucked down in towards his chest. He still had yet to release the headboard. From this angle, it looked like he was really chained there, like he couldn't pull his arms down even if he wanted to.

Illusions, huh.

A picture was starting to form in Leon's head, despite all of Wesker's careful, guarded reactions: a powerful, dominant man, one who had to watch his back every moment, his calculating brain working plan after plan, adding pound after pound of tension to his shoulders until the only thing holding him upright was inertia. A man like that was just the kind of guy who would desperately need a break from all that control, and could never admit it. The kind of guy who could really get something out of handcuffs, more than just a little thrill at doing something different.

He kept this in mind as he started thrusting gently, just a soft rocking back and forth to test the waters. When he was sure Wesker had relaxed enough around him, he pulled out nearly all the way, then drove back in. Wesker pushed up to meet him, using the headboard as leverage.

It was good, but the position wasn't the best. Leon threw one of Wesker’s legs over his shoulder and gripped his hips firmly on the next thrust. He experimented with angles until he found the one that made Wesker gasp, and kept hammering at it.

They soon joined into a staccato rhythm. Every time Wesker tried to push forward and dictate their pace, Leon tightened his grip and changed his own rhythm until Wesker was forced to back off. Wesker grabbed after control almost on reflex, and Leon would just as automatically strip it from him, commanding, “you follow me now” with everything but words.

“Leon,” Wesker gasped. He was trying to sound irritated, but Leon could hear the plea hidden underneath.

He leaned forward and pressed a hand to Wesker's mouth, his thumb and fingers denting the warm cheeks.

“Relax,” he said. “I got this.”

He could pinpoint the moment Wesker finally gave in, when he stopped fighting inside himself and just let Leon take him. It came with a shift in those serpent eyes, like he was sinking into a trance, mesmerized by the motion of their bodies. A cobra under the spell of a snake charmer. Leon thrust forward even harder, riding the rush of power. Who they were outside of this room, this moment, had stopped mattering a long time ago. They were just two human beings enjoying each other, giving what they could, taking what they needed. And what Wesker needed right now was to surrender.

“You’re really into this, huh?” Leon asked, smoothing back Wesker’s hair from his face.

“Aren't you?” Wesker gasped.

“This,” Leon clarified, reaching up over Wesker to tug at the handcuff chain. "I'll bet you fantasized about that spike trap after the mission.”

Wesker's breathing stuttered, which told Leon that yes, in fact, he had. Leon leaned in even closer, his nose brushing the skin under Wesker's ear while his hips kept up their steady thrusting.

"What if I'd gotten handsy, instead of freeing you? You couldn't have done anything about it. I'll bet that was the first time you were really immobilized in a long time."

Wesker made a needy little noise. He probably would have killed anyone who dared call it a whimper.

"And I was right there, kneeling in front of you. If I had just shifted my hand a little to the right..."

He did so now, wrapped his fingers around Wesker's cock, made the flesh jump at that first solid touch. Wesker's head tipped back, his eyes falling shut. Maybe he was imagining the spikes, remembering how they had pinned him from every angle like a leaf caught on thistles. Leon pumped him in time with their thrusts, grip steady and firm. Wesker's chest was heaving, his mouth fallen open to gasp in air. It wouldn't be long now, for either of them.

Leon came first. He arched and cried out, fingernails digging half-moons into Wesker’s skin as he emptied. Wesker whimpered, hips jerking as Leon's pace faltered. Though the orgasm had half-melted him, Leon did his best to steady his hand and pump faster, working Wesker quickly to his own finish. The euphoria on the man's face as he was finally allowed to come was a look Leon wanted to treasure.

They collapsed: Leon, in a sweaty heap over Wesker’s leg, and Wesker in the same straight line he’d been throughout the affair, his hands still grasping the headboard as if they had been nailed there. The room was deafeningly quiet, other than the sound of two men gasping for air.

When he could move again, Leon pushed himself up on his elbows, unable to keep the silly grin off his face. He looked up at his...partner? Lover? Frienemy? Wesker was staring at the ceiling, his eyes glassy. He didn’t respond when Leon crawled up to him and took his hands, nor when Leon pried his fingers off the headboard and forced the arms to lower.

The clink of the chain linking the handcuffs finally broke whatever spell had fallen over him, and he looked down dumbly as Leon unfastened the cuffs from his wrists. Abruptly, Wesker shoved to his feet and vanished into the bathroom, lock clicking behind him. Okay, so he wasn’t an aftercare kind of guy.

Leon was left behind on the bed, still holding the handcuffs, uncertain he liked the sudden turn of mood. Maybe this was the good time to make his exit? No, he'd said he wouldn't run away. Besides, there were things they needed to discuss. He spread the bed covers out over the wet spot and then flopped down on top of them as the sounds of the shower drifted out from the bathroom. It had been damn good sex, whatever Wesker thought of it. Leon hummed to himself in contentment as his eyelids began to droop.

 

* * *

 

A wet cloth landed with a plop on Leon's bare chest, startling him awake. He must have been more exhausted than he thought. Above him, Wesker raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't even clean yourself up?"

"Someone was hogging the bathroom," he groaned, sitting up on one elbow. He caught the towel as it slid down his chest.

"You're still here," Wesker observed, sounding surprised and a little curious.

"It is a nice hotel room," Leon said. "And I haven't had any of the champagne yet."

"Ah."

Leon dazedly watched as Wesker collected his clothing and left the room without so much as a "thank you." Well, he wasn't about to hold his breath waiting for good manners from that man. Wesker must have decided to take off and leave Leon to enjoy the suite in peace. Leon couldn't complain about that arrangement.

He would have been just as happy if Wesker had chosen to stay, and that realization worried the hell out of him. He busied himself with cleaning up the fluids splashed over his thighs, determined not to think about it.

After a minute, Wesker did come back, champagne and two glasses in tow. Leon would never admit to anyone that he warmed a little at the sight.

“Wow, service in bed? I must have been pretty good.” He tossed the dirty cloth to the floor, next to the pile of his clothes. Wesker wrinkled his nose.

“I’d hate to see the state of your apartment.”

“Believe it or not, I keep things pretty tidy.”

Wesker looked skeptical.

“I’m not in it enough to mess it up,” Leon admitted.

“Ah.”

The Tyrant climbed into bed beside him and set his back against the headboard. He had put his pants back on and shed his suit jacket, so the soft fabric of his turtleneck grazed Leon’s elbow as the man settled in. Leon stared at the other man’s bare feet, suddenly struck by the incongruousness of this moment. Albert Wesker, feared bioweapon researcher and ruthless double agent, handing him an empty glass as they lounged in bed together. Leon automatically took the glass, wrestling back the cognitive dissonance as Wesker poured himself a measure of champagne.

“You can pour your own.”

The bottle thrust under his nose snapped the agent back to his senses. He took it and poured a glass.

“I wonder what we're supposed to be celebrating,” Leon said.

“That you're still alive, perhaps. The more time I spend with you, the more that seems like an accomplishment.”

“Ha.”

They lapsed into silence. Leon took a sip from his drink and watched the twinkle of lights through the window beside the flat screen television. Night had fallen fully over the city, its thousands of inhabitants going on about their business under the shelter of their electric lights. The champagne really was good, just what he needed to flush the less savory tastes out of his mouth. He tried not to feel self-conscious about the fact that Wesker was fully clothed while Leon was still naked.

"What are we?" Leon asked. One incident could be written off as a freak occurrence, but this was the second time that a meeting between them had led to sex.

"Does it need a label?"

"I mean. Are we enemies? Fuckbuddies? Enemies with benefits?"

"Enemies with benefits. I like that." Wesker smirked. "If you're not on the clock, we don't have to be enemies. Isn’t that what you were trying to say earlier?"

"Except for the fact that you kill people."

"Most of them deserve it."

"I don't think I'd like your definition of 'deserving it.'"

Wesker chuckled. "A grand job you're doing of apprehending me, then."

"I had you handcuffed," Leon pointed out.

"That you did." Wesker picked up the leather cuffs from the bed, turning them over in his hands.

"Where did you get these?"

In answer, Leon leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the attache case from underneath it. This he deposited in Wesker's lap without comment.

Wesker read the note and shook his head. "Her level of preparedness surprises even me sometimes," he said.

“I never could guess what was going through her head,” Leon offered. “Somehow, the handcuffs aren’t surprising.” Ada and handcuffs just went together, in a way he hadn’t thought of before. She probably had a whole collection stashed away in a closet somewhere. Hm, that gave him some nice ideas for the next time they met up off duty.

Wesker smirked, apparently guessing the direction of Leon’s thoughts.

"I'm a switch, you know," he said, his grin nothing less than devious. He balanced the handcuff chain on one finger and swung them back and forth.

"U-uh. Like hell I trust you enough for that," Leon said, his face heating red. He snatched the handcuffs and stuffed them out of view behind his body, as if afraid Wesker would tie him down and fuck him right there.

"Time will tell," Wesker said, not miffed in the least.

Leon crossed his arms over his chest and sank further into the pillows. “Hey,” he said, “have you got a remote over there?”

 

* * *

 

Ada let the episode credits roll as she busied herself in the kitchen, fixing herself another bowl of arare crackers. She was debating whether to watch another season of green jacket, or whether to switch to blue jacket Lupin, when yet again her night was disturbed by the ring of a telephone. This time, it was her landline. If Simmons had somehow gotten a hold of her home phone number, she was moving.

The caller ID popped up with a number she didn’t recognize. A telemarketer? They could be fun to mess with. She answered.

"Wesker. Honey. Asshole. I don't even want to know _what_ you put in that jello salad monstrosity, I just want to know if it's a biohazard or not before I throw it out."

"I think you have the wrong number."

"OH. Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Enjoy your evening."

The woman hung up. Ada considered her phone for a moment, wondering. Probably a coincidence. Wesker wasn’t that uncommon a last name. She set the phone back down and sauntered back out to the couch to enjoy more of her show.

 

* * *

 

"Look, I'm just saying I don't understand the point of pouring all this money and effort into engineering monsters when you can just kill people with bullets. You know, the old fashioned way."

"The trouble with guns is they require someone to fire them. And that person will be vulnerable to being killed before they can attack. Unleashing a viral bioweapon, on the other hand, can wipe out the entire enemy population without a single casualty on your end."

"So can bombs."

"The delivery system remains an issue. Planes can be shot down, as can the bombs themselves, before impact is made. A virus can be quietly slipped into the water supply and left to do its work before anyone realizes it's there. It is also far less damaging to the surrounding buildings."

"Fine, okay, let's pretend I can't think of an argument to refute that and say viruses are the most cost-effective possible weapon. That doesn't explain any of your B.O.W.s. They're vulnerable to death, they laugh in the face of nature, and they can't even hold guns."

"B.O.W.s were meant for deployment after the virus has done its work. They're to wipe out the rare survivors who display immunity to the virus."

"Tch. Talk about salting the earth." Leon took a sip of his drink. "Why are we watching a man wire explosives into a candy bunny's ass?"

"It's the autoplay. It's going through youtube's recommendations."

"Okay." Leon took another sip. "Why are we still watching it?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

 

Fin

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or, in which Leon stumbles right into Wesker's kinks and hits all his buttons without realizing it.  
> Shhhhh let's pretend youtube had autoplay back around 2006ish, and was available for streaming in hotel televisions. Resident Evil world technology generally tends to be a little ahead of real world technology anyway.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So about that wrong number call...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry but I had to. I have a crippling epilogue addiction.

Jill Valentine set the phone down, a faint flush staining her cheeks. It had shocked her when someone actually answered her call. Wesker never answered. She couldn't keep leaving angry messages on his phone if he did.

She dialed again, typing the numbers in more carefully this time. As the phone rang, she kept a wary at the green abomination wiggling innocently on a plate into the center of the table. It looked like a specter from dad's old 1960s diet cookbook, except jello salads didn't usually absorb your salt shaker when you weren't looking. She could see several napkins and a stray eraser floating in the green murk, alongside the dark orbs which she had first assumed were olives.

Until one of them winked at her.

"You have reached the voicemail box of....Albert. Wesker. Please leave a message after the tone."

Jill sidled back a step and cleared her throat.

"Wesker. Honey. Ass--okay, no, you know what? This thing is obviously a biohazard. I don't even care why or how you made it. I just want you to know that I'm going to go throw it off a cliff and fire rockets at it until it's a pile of cinders."

With a small 'splorp' noise, the jello swallowed up her napkin holder. Jill's eye twitched.

"If you ever leave me a 'gift' like this again, I'm telling Chris what your new email address is. AND who's been signing him up for all those mailing lists."

She slammed the phone down on the receiver. Damn did she wish she had shot down his helicopter way back when...

**Author's Note:**

> There may be no plot, but there WILL be setup, so. Hang tight kids.


End file.
